


Five Times the Dreaming

by firefright



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Christmas, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Getting Together, Holding Hands, Kissing, M/M, Sleeping in Awkward Places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: That Tim can sleep anywhere is a well known fact. That Jason keeps being the one to find him in all those places is an inconvenience that slowly becomes so much more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Welcome to my JayTim Secret Santa Exchange fic, written for thegalacticpope, who has both an awesome username and excellent prompt ideas. I decided to go with the 'Sleepytimes' prompt, and had a bunch of ideas that eventually ended up turning themselves into a kind of 4+1 fic. You'll see what I mean when you read it XD
> 
> To thegalacticpope, thank you for your prompts and I really hope you enjoy the fic! Happy Holidays!

The first time Jason is witness to the full extent of Tim’s unusual sleeping habits, they’re still not friends. There’s still some resentment built up in his chest for the boy who took his name; the last festering of a years old wound. He’s still more likely to spit an insult in Tim’s face than he is to lend a helping hand, even if, on some level, he now concedes that Tim never set out to hurt him.

He’s back in Gotham, back in the neighbourhood where he was born; which is always a gamble. Because while the city might be his home as much as theirs, the other guardians of her streets don’t trust him. Any appearance he makes is greeted with instant suspicion - not unwarranted considering his past actions, but still hurtful as much as he tells himself he doesn’t care.

So on this particular trip, Jason is doing his best (for once) to keep his head low and avoid any Bats and Birds until his business is done and he can escape back outside the city boundaries. He’s really, honestly, trying not to run into anyone and cause a scene, which is why he’s so taken aback when he stumbles upon his replacement - currently tucked up and sleeping against one of the many gargoyles protecting Gotham’s rooftops with a pair of binoculars held loosely in his right hand - by accident.

Surprise glues him to the spot. Jason first stares down at the sleeping teenager, then cautiously turns his head to look around the area, expecting Bruce or Dick to come bursting out of the shadows at him at any moment with a demand he get away from their precious Robin. That’s usually the way it would go, what with him having beat the tar out of the kid that one time. But no, nothing happens. It seems it really just the two of them up here, and - after closer inspection - Tim really does appear to be fast asleep.

The smart move at this point would be to just move on. Leave him to it. He’s a tough kid, probably knows what he’s doing, but some part of Jason can’t in good conscience leave him slumbering out here alone alone in this part of town; even if the spot he’s in is virtually unreachable to anyone without a grappling hook or the power of flight.

“Hey, uh, Replacement?” Calling someone else Robin still leaves a sour taste on his tongue, so Jason avoids it whenever possible. “Tim?”

He sighs when those words aren’t enough, but he’s not going to raise his voice loud enough to shout either, that’s for damn sure. When it comes to a choice of getting shot by random thugs on the street or not getting shot, Jason will always take the latter option. So instead he moves his foot forward, prodding at the kid’s thigh while trying to maintain enough distance between them to keep himself safe when Tim’s survival instincts inevitably kick in.

“Yo, asswipe. Wake up!”

Jason yanks his foot back at the exact same time as Tim startles awake, a birdarang already in his hand by the time he’s leapt to his feet (dropping and breaking the binoculars in the process) and realised just who it is that’s woken him up. “... Jason?”

“The one and only.” Jason keeps his hands nice and loose by his sides. He’s not trying to come across as a threat tonight, but if Tim decides to go for him he sure as hell will defend himself. “Have a nice nap with your cuddle buddy there, princess?”

Tim’s face scrunches up in confusion, before he follows the tilt of Jason’s head to look down at the gargoyle and red steals over his cheeks in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant to look at. “I wasn’t -”

“Sure you weren’t.” Jason drawls, “You were just resting your eyes, right?”

Tim blushes deeper, but there’s a harder clench to his jaw this time. “Hood, what are you doing here?”

“Sightseeing.”

His answer doesn’t impress, but then Jason didn’t expect it too. He can see the twitch in the kid’s wrist that says he wants to throw throw that birdarang he’s holding; so would Jason if the situation were reversed. “If you’re up to anything, we’ll stop you.” He’s warned, and it’s hilarious except for all the ways in which it isn’t, especially when Tim still looks half-asleep while saying it. Jason stops himself from laughing. Just barely.

“The only thing I’m ‘up to’, Timbo, is being aghast at your sloppiness whilst on the job. But whatever. I don’t care about your dating habits. Just watch where you’re sleeping this town, idiot. After all, you never know what kind of unscrupulous characters might be hanging around the area.”

He’d give Tim a nasty smile to emphasise the point that he could have done anything he wanted when he found him rather than just waking him up, but there’s no point with his helmet obscuring his features. In the smile’s place, an especially nasty and biting comment will have to do instead.

Jason leans forwards, just enough to push Tim on the defensive. “And I’m sure you agree Bruce doesn’t need another dead disappointment of a bird sitting on his conscience.”

The blush worsens, this time accompanied by anger. Tim opens his mouth to shoot back some kind of retort, but Jason’s not interested in indulging him any further. He’s already done his good deed for the night, and so he reaches for his grappling gun, firing it towards the adjacent building and taking off before he can hear anything the kid has to say on the matter.

Thankfully, his replacement doesn’t bother to pursue him.

 

*

 

The second time, things are a little better all round. Not just with Tim, but with Bruce and Dick and all the rest of them too - except maybe the demon brat that came into their lives about half a year ago. But since Damian is just that, a _brat_ , Jason’s not exactly shook up about it.

He’s back in the manor for the first time in years, allowed to wander around the building and grounds without supervision or a steering hand at his back in a show of trust that he doesn’t entirely know what to do with. He avoids his old bedroom for the sake of his own sanity, sticking mostly to the safer spaces on the ground floor as he explores the hallways of his childhood, noting what has and hasn’t changed since the last time he was here at the ripe old age of fifteen.

Not much, it turns out. Tradition rules this house; the ghosts of the past hold more sway than the living do. And as much as the creaking walls and shadowy alcoves used to creep Jason out as a child, there’s an odd comfort in knowing that some things will always stay the same - at least as long as Bruce remains the master of the house.

But no matter where else his feet might take him, it was inevitable that he’d eventually end up in the library, Alfred had even given him a knowing look when he walked past the entrance of the kitchen in that direction. The memory of the shelves upon shelves of books is too powerful an allure to resist, and Jason sighs in soft contentment as he steps through the doorway and paces towards the stacks, breathing in the musty smell of old paper and trailing his fingers up and down the spines of the stories that were his best friends growing up.

This room, along with the attic at the top of the house, was his sanctuary during the three brief years he called Wayne Manor home. His refuge away from the chaos of the outside world, and by the time he was fifteen, his slowly fracturing relationship with Bruce as well.

When he came out of the Lazarus Pit, it was one of the first places he could remember missing. Perhaps because it signified peace and quiet at a time when his life was filled with anything but.

He never dreamed in all those years since that he’d get to come here again, and now, lost in nostalgia, it doesn’t occur to him that in that time he’s been gone it might also have become someone else’s sanctuary as well.

Jason rounds one of the two antique couches in the room and has to catch himself quickly, as he almost steps on Tim’s bare foot where the teenager is lying sprawled out on the hardwood floor, with an open book held to his chest like a teddy bear and a depowered laptop next to his head. There’s two empty energy drink cans near him as well, one of which has been knocked over by the sharp point of Tim’s elbow, causing the sticky dregs inside to drip across the floorboards and under the furniture.

“Jesus.” Jason mutters, eyebrows raising to his hairline as he shakes his head over the mess. He’d wondered where Tim was earlier today and now he has his answer.

Again the temptation hits just to leave him where he is, lying on the floor, and let the kid deal with the inevitable pain he’ll have in his joints when he wakes up (considering how all around bony he is), as well as Alfred’s wrath alone, but again - just like the first time - his pesky conscience rears its head and Jason sighs, knowing that he’ll have to wake him.

“Hey. Hey, Tim. Wake up.”

He crouches down and reaches over, tapping his fingers over the hard ridge of Tim’s hip where his shirt has ridden up. It seems a good idea in the moment: Jason figures that if Tim’s ticklish, he’ll probably squirm and yelp at the treatment, which will be a laugh for him - as well as a viable disguise for his noble intentions. But apparently Tim is about as far from normal in that respect as Jason is, because he lashes out, kicking Jason solidly in the stomach and sending him crashing down onto his back next to one of the shelves instead.

If Jason was smarter, he would have remembered that the violent reflexes they all rely on to stay alive don’t just go away because you fall asleep in a familiar setting. They certainly never did for him, much to the misfortune of his pillows.

The next thirty seconds pass uncomfortably as Jason chokes and wheezes on his own forcibly expelled air until Tim appears above him, looking frantically apologetic as he tries to pull Jason back up at the same time as feeling over his stomach in case he managed to do him a real injury. “Oh my God! Oh my God, Jason. I’m so sorry! Are you -”

“You kick… kick like a mule.” Jason wheezes as he sits up. He can’t help laughing - or trying to laugh at least - at the flustered look on Tim’s face. “Must be... those bony feet.”

Tim hits him on the shoulder for the remark. His hair is plastered down on one side of his head from where he was laid on the floor, and that just makes Jason laugh harder, until he’s sounding like a stuttering car engine as he continues struggling to breath properly.

“Bony hands too.”

“Oh go to hell.” Tim sits back on the floor, taking his hand from Jason’s stomach and curling it in tight against his own. He’s still blushing, soft and pink with embarrassment. “What did you even wake me up for?”

“What were you sleeping in the library for?” Jason counters. “You know you got Red Bull on the floor, right.”

“I did not. I -” Tim looks back over his shoulder at the cans and pales.”... oh crap, I did.”

“Mmhm.”

He sighs. “Alfred’s gonna kill me.”

“Not if you clean it up before he comes in here, he won’t.”

Tim snorts, “Is that why you woke me up? To save me from Alfred’s wrath?”

“No, I woke you up because I assume one of the fifty beds in this place is yours and I don’t want to put up with your snoring while I’m trying to read.” Jason rubs his stomach. “You’re on your own against Alfred.”

“I do not snore.”

“How do you know? You can’t hear yourself.”

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose while Jason smirks at him. “Because I’ve watched recordings of myself sleeping, Jason.”

“... that is beyond creepy, you realise.”

“Not as creepy as someone else watching me sleep.”

Jason decides he really doesn’t want to pry any deeper into that story. “So why were you sleeping in the library again?”

“I was working. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Tim sighs. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“From the looks of you, you must always be more tired than you thought.”

“That sentence made no sense.”

“I mean your eyes, dipshit. They’ve got deeper bags under them than Mary Poppins ever had.” Jason gestures underneath his own, knowing he’s no prize either. They all reach for the concealer on the days where they need to look like normal human beings. “You should go to bed, get some real sleep.”

Tim gives him a strange look. “Don’t tell me you’re concerned.”

“No.” Jason says quickly, even as he wonders at himself. “I just… if you’re tired enough to fall asleep here, you’re tired enough to mess up on patrol. That’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Now Tim’s smirking, the bastard. Pink lips moving into an intriguing curve as Jason tries not to look directly at him. “I’ll take your advice in mind. Just let me clean up my mess.”

“Don’t bother, I’ll do it.” Jason interjects, catching Tim’s wrist before he can move in that direction. He wants him out of the room suddenly, disturbed by the odd twist in his gut, which is only worsened by the feeling of the pulse beating beneath his fingertips. “Just get out of here before you make it worse.”

“I’m not Dick, Jason.” Tim reasons, and normally that joke would make Jason laugh, but today it falls oddly flat. For both of them it seems like. Tim is looking at Jason like he’s never really seen him before. “But yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Jason lets go of his wrist, mustering the most brazen smile he can. “Go on, Timbo, scoot.”

Tim gets to his feet, leaving everything but his laptop behind as he walks out of the room with one final, strange look at Jason. Once he’s gone, Jason lets his head thunk back against the bookshelf he’s leant up against. The rapidly forming bruise over his stomach throbs, while his fingers tingle with the leftover feeling of holding Tim’s arm.

Just what the hell was that about?

 

*

 

The third time… the third time is when Jason has finally figured out what it was about, and is able to admit that he has a problem. His problem is one Timothy Jackson Drake: former Robin, now Red, who keeps creeping into Jason’s life in all the ways he never should’ve been able to.

At first he just runs into him in the cave, on patrol: during the kinds of giant disasters only Gotham seems to be a magnet for. And that - that was _fine._ He could deal with those passing moments, filled with biting commentary that was slowly becoming more playful and less bitter as time went on. But then came the incursions into the other side of his life. The one that doesn’t involve the two of them constantly dressed in what should be illegal amounts of kevlar and spandex.

It started with breakfast, which was damning in itself. Croissants and pancakes and teasing banter about Alfred’s waffles. Then came the text messages, the phone calls. The late night discussions when the two of them coincidentally couldn’t sleep and just needed someone else to talk shit at until they could - someone who wasn’t Roy in Jason’s case. Then the next thing he knew Tim kept turning up to the warehouse they call home, forcing Jason to come to terms with the fact that he isn’t just tolerating Tim anymore.

No. Now he actually _likes_ the little bastard. Likes his intelligence and his wit; his taste in music and movies. He admires his skill and dedication to the goal as much as Tim often drives him crazy with his attention to detail and bossiness, and - worst of all - that feeling he’d first gotten an inkling of in the library has continued to grow, like a particularly virile weed in the pit of his stomach.

So when he comes home one day, with Roy off on the other side of the country working with some of his old Titan buddies on another case, to find Tim crashed out on their couch like he owns the place, he instantly resents his presence and the accompanying curl of attraction it brings with it.

He’s not a teenager, this sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen to him anymore.

Unfortunately, Jason’s libido isn’t keen on listening to his head’s reasoning, as it unashamedly points out to him just how pretty Tim looks when he’s asleep, even with drool currently dripping out of the corner of his mouth and onto his good cushions. His dark hair spills across his forehead in a gentle wave, while his eyelashes - ridiculously long and pretty like a model’s in a mascara ad - sweep over his pale cheeks in a way that make Jason ache to brush his fingers against them.

If he were in any way an artistic person, this is about the time he’d be reaching for a paintbrush. But Jason is about as shit with drawing as he is with feelings, so that course of action is out the window. Instead, he walks over to the couch and - rather than simply waking Tim up the way he always has before - sinks down onto the floor to sit in front of him, swallowing hard as he comes to the realisation that this problematic feeling really isn’t going to go away anytime soon.

“I hate you.” He tries saying experimentally to Tim’s sleeping face, reaching for the rage and resentment that once boiled beneath his skin, but it’s not there; now the words are just words. There’s no more anger to them. No loathing for the upstart pretender who stole his name and took his rightful place by Bruce’s side.

This isn’t supposed to happen to him. He doesn’t feel this way about people. Sure, in the past there might have been a few post-fight adrenaline fuelled makeout sessions with Roy, and he did have a couple adolescent fantasies about Dick before he died (but since everyone had fantasies about Dick, Jason figured they couldn’t be held against him), but other than that, the only sexual experience he’d ever had in his life that he cared to remember was with Talia, and the less said about that the better.

Now he has this tangled web of feelings and desire revolving around Tim woven in a knot around his ribs, and he’s understandably freaking out about it. Trying to ignore those feelings hasn’t done him much good either, and Jason’s not that pig headedly stubborn that he doesn't realise that leaves him with only one other course of action if he doesn’t want to be left suffering for the rest of his life.

“I really, _really_ hate you.” Jason sighs, meaning something else entirely as he reaches forwards and touches Tim’s hair, smoothing back a few stray strands from his face and tucking them in behind his ears.

“Mmm. I know.” Tim, apparently not quite as asleep as Jason thought he was, cracks opens his eyes to look at him. A gentle but tired smile lights up his face, “Kind of wish you’d stop complaining and actually do something about it, though..”

Jason’s breath catches in his throat, and he finds himself starting to go an alarmingly long amount of time without air before he manages to tear his gaze away from those stormy blue eyes. His first impulse is to deny he has any idea what Tim’s talking about, but he’s caught off guard, fumbling with the strength of his own emotion, and so all he manages to say in response is a wary “... yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He swallows, almost leaning forwards before stopping short once again. “Just to be clear, we’re both talking about the same thing, right? You want me to -”

“Jason.” Tim says, sighing exasperatedly before reaching out to snag the front of his shirt and pull him in closer. “Shut up and come here.”

Jason swallows hard. It’s hard to mistake his meaning after that, but he still takes his time in leaning forwards, trying to give Tim plenty of opportunities to change his mind and stop him if he wants to, before their lips press together in a kiss that is soft and more than a little clumsy. Mostly because of the angle they’re kissing at, though the drool still running down the side of Tim’s cheek doesn’t help either.

But once they readjust to make it easier, then it’s just magical. Sweet and cautious at first until Tim’s hand wraps around the back of Jason’s neck, pulling him in closer so that the kiss deepens. Soon enough, Tim’s tongue is licking into his mouth and every other thought other than _wow, why wasn’t I doing this earlier?_ has completely flown Jason’s head for cooler pastures.

As it turns out, Tim is also a really good kisser among so many other things. A skill Jason would be jealous of if he wasn’t the one currently reaping the benefits of it.

“The next time you want to wake me up,” Tim murmurs, after they finally break apart, “Do it like that, okay?”

Jason shivers at the continuing brush of his lips against his own as he speaks, fighting and mostly failing to stop himself from smiling at the touch. “So that’s what this is about, huh? Making me into your personal alarm clock?”

“Something like that.”

He shakes his head, amused but mostly giddy with what just happened, “And when are you anticipating you’ll be needing my services again?”

Even this close up, Jason can’t miss Tim’s all too devious smirk when he pulls him forwards into another kiss, “Tomorrow morning. If you’re lucky, that is.”

Even with a tongue currently exploring the backs of his molars, Jason isn’t oblivious enough to mistake the meaning behind that. He blushes, ears burning, even as he reaches for Tim’s shoulder to pull him off the couch and into his lap.

It soon turns out that, for once in his life, Jason is very lucky indeed.

 

*

 

After that night, he quickly loses track of all the strange ways in which he finds Tim sleeping: crashed out at odd hours in odd places.

He finds him slumped over tables and curled up in the spaces between furniture, the little alcoves and crawlspaces in the manor no one but Jason ever thinks to look in. He even finds him down in the cave and up in the attic a few times, where Tim reveals to him that he figured out all the places Jason used to hide his cigarettes in when he was fifteen within his first few weeks of being in the manor; tracking down the little signs of Jason’s life that Bruce hadn’t known about to get rid of or lock away in his grief with the same fervour in which he once tracked the dynamic duo across the rooftops of Gotham with his camera.

The packs are still there between the floorboards, faded and worn by time. For some reason, Jason never thought to fish them out before. But he does then, lighting one just to see how the tobacco’s aged, and Tim laughs at him when he coughs and chokes on the stale flavour.

That’s another thing he’s come to appreciate about Tim: he doesn’t judge him as much for his bad habits as the others do. Not when he has so many of them himself.

The saga finally comes to a head though when Jason comes home one December evening to find Tim asleep in a tangle of Christmas lights. Only the time he discovered him passed out with his head inside one of the huge boxes they used to pack their belongings when they first moved into their apartment together comes close to matching it.

Naturally the first thing Jason does - other than laugh - is snap a picture of the mess on his phone and send it to Dick. Then he steps forwards, carefully avoiding the scattered ornaments on the floor to kneel down next to Tim and, still true to his word even after all these months, presses a warm kiss to his temple and then his cheek to wake him up.

“Come on, baby bird. Time to get up.”

“Jason?”

“You know anyone else this devilishly handsome?” Jason grins, tipping his head down towards him. “You want to explain to me what happened here, or should I just go ahead and take a wild guess?”

“What - oh.” Tim blushes all kinds of red. From dusky pink near his ears to scarlet blossoms at the center of his cheeks. Again Jason wishes he was an artist, just so that he could have a chance at naming each individual shade. “I uh... I was going to surprise you?”

Jason arches one eyebrow. “Not my first choice for gift wrapping, gotta admit. You ever think of using a nice silky soft ribbon instead of wires and glass? Maybe while naked?”

Tim goes to hit him. Or at least, he tries to before he’s brought up short by the Christmas lights looped around his arms. “Not like _that._ I was going to decorate the apartment for Christmas. I thought since you know… it’s…”

Their first one together as a couple. Their first one together in a place that’s entirely their own, without busy body best friends or interfering relatives to get in the way.

It’s sweet, and Jason knows he’s now blushing a little too. The heat on his face confirms it. “Oh. Wow... okay. Um, yeah. Good, er…” he points both his thumbs upwards. “Points for effort.” Now that he’s paying attention to the rest of the apartment, Jason notices the green plastic tree set up ready to be decorated in the corner, with tinsel organised into neat colour coordinated piles at its base alongside matching baubles. There’s even a star made of intricately webbed golden thread over a metal frame perched on top of the coffee table, ready to go on the apex of the tree once the rest of its branches are finished.

Dimly, on one of those rare occasions where he was feeling both maudlin and talkative, Jason can remember telling Tim that his mom always put a star on the pathetic little plastic tree they had when he was a boy, rather than an angel. It was the smallest slip, but faced with the evidence that Tim still remembers it in the here and now, Jason feels his battered heart aching in his chest.

_I don’t deserve him_ he thinks, not for the first time in the course of their relationship.

“It would have been if I didn’t fall asleep.” Tim sighs, trying to wriggle his way out of the wires with little success.. “This week has been way too hectic.”

“Every week is hectic with you.” Jason reminds him, helping Tim sit up so that he can do his part in getting him free. “I’d tell you to slow down, but I know you won’t. So maybe next time get a nap in first _before_ you embark on the interior design project.”

“I wanted to get it done before you got home.” Tim mutters, and he actually sounds on the verge of being truly upset. Enough that Jason stops what he’s doing, only to grasp Tim’s face with both hands so he can knock their foreheads together.

“Hey now, none of that,” He whispers to him, chest full of that awkward feeling of love he still doesn’t know quite how to handle. “It’s fine, Timbo. This just means we can do it together now, right? Like the families on TV do.”

Tim swallows, loud enough for Jason to hear. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to.” Jason assures him, before pressing their mouths together in a kiss that’s warm, confident, and much improved on the technique he first used eleven months ago. “Just as soon as we get you out of that amateur bondage setup.”

Tim hiccups with near silent laughter, but his relief is palpable. “I thought amateur bondage was what you wanted?”

“Yeah, but with ribbon, Tim. _Ribbon._ ”

It takes ten minutes of them working together to get Tim free, then another two hours on top of that before they’re done with the tree and the rest of the apartment, which is large and expansive to say that there’s only two of them living here. But all in all, Jason is left feeling pretty proud of both himself and Tim for all the festive work they’ve done. If it weren’t for the slight crookedness to the tree itself he doesn't think even Alfred could have done a better job.

“So, you going to wrap yourself back up and lay down under the tree for me to find on Christmas morning now?” Jason says jokingly, holding onto Tim’s hand as they admire their setup from the safety of the couch.

Tim rolls his eyes, “Not if you keep harping on about it.”

“I keep telling you, Tim, my Harper’s getting nowhere near you.”

This time Tim really does hit him, but not without dragging him into a kiss right after. “Idiot.” he stands up afterwards, while Jason’s still licking the taste of him out of the corners of his mouth. “Right now, the only thing I’m doing is going to bed.”

“Tim, it’s three in the afternoon.”

“Shut up and come to bed with me, Jason.”

 

*

 

It was inevitable that one day that the situation would get turned around. That Tim would be the one to find Jason sleeping somewhere he shouldn’t.

Christmas Day has been and gone. Gifts were exchanged, the annual forced Wayne get together didn’t end in total disaster, and Gotham is surprisingly quiet on New Year’s Eve, largely thanks to Calendar Man already being locked away in the depths of Arkham before the day arrived.

Tim’s helping Dick out with something across town when he leaves the apartment, and Jason could have joined them if he wanted to, but for him Crime Alley always comes first before anywhere else. There’ll be plenty of drunken college kids out there tonight, looking to get their rocks off with the working girls Jason considers under his protection, and he needs to be there to make sure none of them take it too far, as is all too common at this time of the year.

Season of love and giving, his ass. There’s nothing quite like the holidays for making people remember how much they hate the world and each other.

He’s busy at first, busting heads and scaring off the worst culprits, but eventually it gets late enough, and cold enough, that even the hardiest of party goers and prostitutes call it quits for the night. Gotham becomes a silent world of ice and snow in their absence, beautiful and glittering under the dark sky overhead. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, at least for tonight.

It’s nostalgia that has him sitting down between one of the city’s steam grates and a nearby streetlight to warm up before making the run home. Jason remembers - not fondly - how often he was forced to fight for a space next to one of them as a boy before Bruce found him; sometimes alone, sometimes with other homeless children. The warm rise of steam had always been more effective at keeping frostbite from their toes and fingers than huddling under even half a dozen moth-eaten blankets.

That warmth lulls him even now. Maybe because of something wired deep into his brain, a reflex he can’t forget, or break. Like hiding food in bolt holes around the city and in his home, or buying all of his and Tim’s furniture second-hand because he was unable to convince himself to spend money on luxuries they don’t need, no matter how much cash he has resting in his various bank accounts. There are some pieces of himself that Jason knows he’ll never be able to forget, no matter how many years have passed since they were laid into his foundation.

He thinks: _Just five more minutes._ He thinks: _I just need to rest my eyes_.

Then, when he opens them again, Tim is resting against him with the folds of his cape wrapped around his shoulders.

“... what” Jason swallows, “What time is it?”

“Three o’clock in the morning.” Tim hums, gloved fingers resting against his collarbone. “I think you’ve been out for maybe forty minutes?”

“Shit.” Jason mutters, going to rub at his eyes before remembering he still has his helmet on. “That sounds about right.”

“Mmhm. I found you passed out here about thirty minutes ago. You’re lucky it was me and no one else.”

Jason bites his lip. “I only meant to sit down for a moment.”

The weak excuse makes Tim laugh. “That’s what I always say, and then you chew me out for it. You know you’re never allowed to make fun of my sleeping habits again after this, right? At least when I takes naps outside I do it up on rooftops.”

He’s right about that, and Jason winces before shaking his head and starting to stretch the stiffness out of his limbs. “Sorry.”

Tim shrugs off his apology. “It’s okay. I’m just saying, we’re on even footing now, Jason.”

“I really don’t think my one instance is comparable to the… what is it? Several dozen times you’ve done it now?”

“You really have lost count.” Tim says, and he’s smirking unashamedly, as if putting his life in peril because he can’t keep his eyes open is a particularly good joke. “Now come on, hurry up and take your helmet off.”

“Take off my helmet? Tim, why -”

“Just do it.”

Jason’s too shamefaced about the situation Tim found him in to argue any further. He reaches up, hitting the catch under his jaw that releases the helmet’s fastenings before pulling it off his head. The moment it’s clear, Tim suddenly swipes it from his hands, setting the helmet down next to the steam grate so that he can swing his leg over Jason’s lap before pressing a deep and powerful kiss to his lips that has him reeling back from how unexpected it is.

“What… what was that for?” Jason asks, blushing all the way up to his ears once Tim’s done trying to fish his tonsils out of his throat with his tongue.

Tim sighs, shaking his head against Jason’s hopelessness. “It’s three in the _morning_ , Jason, and I haven’t seen you since yesterday.” his smile softens, “Happy new year.”

“Oh.” Jason says dumbly a moment later, before breaking out into a pleased grin. He can’t believe he forgot, or that Tim could be so cliche in reminding him. “Well, would you look at that, I guess it is. Okay then. Happy new year, Tim.”

They kiss again, just as deeply, before Tim climbs off him and offers Jason a helping hand up from the filthy street. It’s still freezing outside, but there’s a warm bed waiting for them at home.


End file.
